


House on the Lake

by lehulei



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: AU, Angst, Drama, F/M, Romance, Underage Sex, the Ninth Doctor does look too old for Rose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 13:30:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lehulei/pseuds/lehulei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU.  <i>Maybe she wasn’t even real, but a little forest sprite, here in the heart of the mountains.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	House on the Lake

**Author's Note:**

> You must all know that I never thought I would write a story like this. "This" meaning AU and also with Rose being underage. I was inspired by the below photo, started writing and the story's gotten away from me. I even meant to keep this a short one-shot. Sheesh, what's a writer gotta do to get some control around here?

There is a house that holds calmly to the middle of the large lake, surrounded on all sides by mountains, certain in its own position, undaunted. The lake itself is something of a revelation: water clear to the endless dark beneath, always serene and still, like glass. One can be fooled into thinking it solid and attempting to traverse its shiny surface, only to find oneself floundering underwater.

She’d tried it once, in the summer that she was ten. Her family has been vacationing in the Alps for as long as she could remember. Her mum and father were more interested in visiting friends they already saw in London, while she liked to spend time in the quiet forest, playing make-believe, or just listening to the wildlife. But what she’d always looked forward to seeing and what she’d always been fascinated by was the house in the middle of the lake.

Her mum was always more on the cautious side of things, protective of her only child, and so Rose had never had an opportunity to explore the lakeside like she’d wanted. But Rose had snuck out of the cabin while her parents were still sleeping to finally see if she could find the secret walkway she was convinced existed that led to the middle of the lake. Feeling newly independent with her double-digit age, she’d ventured to the lake on her own, edging out onto the wooden dock, getting closer to the water than she’d ever been.

Unfortunately for her, she was unable to find that walkway. Instead, when she’d precariously stretched down to place her foot on the unbroken surface of the lake, her grip had slipped on the wooden post, small fingers unable to get a stable hold on it, and she fell into the water before she could do more than gasp in surprise. The dock was over a deep part of water and Rose, who’d never learned how to swim, was unable to find her way back to the surface. She’d wanted to scream, but instinctively knew that this was a bad idea. As her lungs tightened and her frantic movements slowed, she'd thought that she’d die a tragic death at the summer lake. She’d hoped that Mickey knew he could have all of her CDs.

Just then however, she'd felt something hit her in the middle of the stomach, drag her through the water and break her through the surface, gulps of air gratefully flooding into her lungs. Large but gentle hands gripped her arms and tugged her over the side of something.

“There now, it’s okay. Just breathe normally. That’s a good girl. In. And out. In. Out.”

Not really having grasped her bearings, she’d followed the directions of the low, baritone timbre. When she’d calmed down, she’d opened her eyes to find a bear of a man bent over her, shoulders blocking out the sun above, his face covered with a light brown beard, at odds with his short haircut; eyes as blue as the lake and just as clear.

Her first reaction was of fear, her mum’s injunctions of never talking to strangers, especially _men_ , ringing in her mind. Then he’d smiled a wide, teeth-showing grin, his eyes crinkling into the happy lines grooved in around them, and she’d known that she could trust him, her own smile coming out to greet him.

“You trying to walk on water, little one?” he’d asked as he pulled a blanket out from underneath the seat of his boat. She’d felt a blush creep up at having someone witness her silly fantasy. He’d noticed and clucked at her, bringing the blanket around and rubbing her hair and arms in a brusque manner, getting the drying process going as the last bits of morning fog dissipated in the light. “You’re just looking in the wrong place, is all.”

He’d given her that wide smile again when she’d looked up at him, unknowingly widening her brown eyes in wonder and a silent plea for more information. She was going to be a looker when she grew up, her dirty blonde hair and large eyes set in an elfin face. He’d pointed at a spot on the water, next to a large boulder at the edge of the lake. “There’s where you’ll find the walkway across the water. But only in the high summer months, when the sun’s drunk up a lot of the lake and the rains haven’t come. It’s really only there for a week or so, the water still up to your ankles—well, for you, probably your knees.” He’d given her a friendly squeeze and smiled again when she’d giggled, glad to see the little girl getting over her scare.

She’d wiped her hands over her face and looked up at him again as he settled back onto his seat, picking up the oars that he’d used to fish her out of the water. Shyly she voiced, “Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome,” he’d replied, bending a little in a mock-bow. She’d given him that smile again, the one with the little bit of pink peeking out and he’d been charmed. “Let’s get you back on dry land again, shall we?”

She’d nodded and settled against the side of the boat until he’d gotten the rowboat on the shore. Hopping out, he’d helped her find her feet and she’d returned the blanket, her pink summer dress still a little wet, hair frizzing in the weather. She’d squinted up at him, thanking him once more and telling him that she could find her way home from there. For some reason, the sight of her acting so polite while in such disarray, lifted his heart like nothing had for a long while. Not since Ramona’s death.

He’d taken the girl’s hand and bowed over it, playing around like he hadn’t in however many years, just to get her laughing again. “Until we meet again, Princess?” he’d left it open ended, not wanting to be seen as some creepy old man, but a little unwilling to have such a light creature forever gone from him. Maybe she wasn’t even real, but a little forest sprite, here in the heart of the mountains.

After only a slight hesitation, she’d nodded and introduced herself. “I’m Rose.”

He’d let go of her hand then and waved her off as he’d stepped back into his boat.

“What’s your name?” she’d called after him. He’d wryly smiled, silly of him to forget.

“I’m John. And I live in the house on the lake.” He’d not missed the slight drop of her mouth and the delight in her eyes. He’d known then that they would meet again, the weary old man and the wide-eyed pink girl. And he’d been glad of it.

 

 

Rose doesn’t see him again until two years later. For the rest of that past summer and the one following, she’d tried to catch a glimpse of him across the water or around the shore, showing up at different times early in the morning. That is until her mum had gotten wise to her just-before-dawn escapades and had roundly scolded her for it. Rose hadn’t told her about John or the incident at the lake, feeling that he was a friend just for herself.

Two years later though, she begins to think that maybe she’d made the whole thing up. She’d always had an active imagination: playing dragons and warrior-princess; astronaut-extraordinaire; pirate-princess of the high seas and the like. (She could never be _just_ a princess, you see.) She’d had imaginary friends before, but they’d come and gone as often as she’d changed the setting of the stories. Her parents kept trying to get her involved with other kids her age at the private school she was going with or their own friends' children, but they were too boring and never willing to let their imagination go with hers. Mickey was the only one who’d come close but she didn’t get to see him much, now that her father was the head of his own company and had moved his family to a nicer part of the city.

She’s with her parents in the local village because her mother's burned dinner when her eye catches on a man crossing the street to the general store. He’s over six feet and walks with a gait that she thinks she recognizes but can’t place. His face is clean-shaven, his brown hair’s short, and it isn’t until he turns and smiles at a young boy who holds the general store’s door open for him does her mind click into place.

Mumbling about looking at something in the store window across the street, she leaves her bickering parents to decide on what they’re going to eat as she makes her way to the general store, stopping just inside the doorway as the bell tinkles behind her. A quick scan shows that he’s to her left, looking over some fishing gear. Undecided, she moves to her right where the staples and canned food are located. She wanders the aisles, trying to figure out how to get closer just to make sure that it is him, before she re-introduces herself, still feeling unsure of the whole lake thing in general.

She gets distracted by a raspberry-orange jar of marmalade because really, who’s ever wanted berry and citrus together, when a shadow falls over her. She looks up into smiling blue eyes and a wide grin. “Princess Rose! Fantastic!” he exclaims, excitement bubbling from him and into her and she smiles in kind, curtsying because it seemed called for. He bows just as formally.

“Since you’re here, why don’t you help me figure out which bait I should be using for the fearsome fish of the lake?” He grabs her hand and leads her over to the other side of the store where they argue if the fish would be more attracted to the blue crystal or the fuzzy caterpillar. He’s kneeling next to her so that they’re the same height and they’re laughing at one bait in particular that looks like his head, when she hears her mother call her from the doorway.

Startled, she turns and meets her mum’s worried gaze, which flits between her young daughter and a man who looks only a few years younger than Rose's father. Rose doesn’t recognize the concern but John does and he helps himself to his feet, making sure that he doesn’t touch the girl in anyway and keeping his demeanor as unthreatening as possible. He sticks his hand out to introduce himself, “Doctor John Smith, pleased to meet you.”

Cautiously, the mother sticks her own hand out to shake his, only slightly relaxing upon hearing his title. “Jackie Tyler, Rose’s mum,” she indicates with a nod.

Seeing the question in her eyes, he takes it upon himself to set her at ease. “I met Rose a couple summers ago when she’d gotten a little lost in the forest. Quite a bright girl you have,” he smiles at Rose, unable to keep the warmth out of his voice. It isn't something that she or anyone would be aware of, but Rose, with her whimsy and wonder, had chipped at the solid wall of grief and darkness he’d wrapped himself in following his wife’s death. For that, he would always consider her special.

Whatever she sees or senses sets Jackie at ease and she smiles at him before holding out a hand for Rose to grab onto. “Yes, she is. Come on, Rose. Dad’s got dinner worked out.”

Rose follows her mom out the door, turning a little to wave 'bye to her friend, mouthing, “Thank you.” He nods, knowing that she hadn’t actually told her mother about falling into the lake, remembering how it was to be a kid and protecting one’s own.

 

 

As the summers pass, the two friends manage to meet up again over her annual two-week vacation, sometimes at the village, but mostly at the lake. The Doctor (as she’s taken to calling him, at first simply because she was unused to calling adults by their first name, but now because it’s what she calls him) and her at first met unexpectedly but by tacit agreement, started meeting most early mornings near the dock, usually before the sun had capped the mountains surrounding the lake.

He’s taken to teaching her survival skills, having observed her inability to swim and her “citified ways” as he likes to call them. She’s always been curious and she figures that these skills will be useful when she grows up and starts traveling. And besides, she likes to spend time with him. He's really her only friend.

They don’t speak much about deeply personal things, except for a few comments here and there. She knows that his wife died some months before they met and that he has a son a little older than her. She knows that he doesn’t live at the lake house all around the year. He knows that she doesn’t really like the private school she goes to, except for the drama class which she excels at. She knows that he tells great stories and that he’s traveled a lot in his life. He knows that she’s a willing learner and clever to boot.

Their relationship isn’t based on moroseness or the seriousness of life; they find joy in each other.

For some reason, she’s never thought of him as someone that much older than her, though he looks it. They’re more kindred spirits (a new word she’d recently read somewhere) and age doesn’t seem to matter. He’s fun and he’s helpful and she feels comfortable around him. Something that she doesn’t often get in her schools where her daydreamer ways and her lower-class accent that she can never get rid of gets mocked.

As she hits sixteen, she notices that she takes time to put make-up on and checks the mirror at least three times before she runs down to the lake. Her heart always seems to speed up now when she finds him at their usual spot, sitting at the edge of the dock. He’s wearing his usual plaid shirt, sleeves rolled up and the sight of his forearms sets off a ticking within her that she doesn’t recognize. His head is bent over something in his hands, probably something that he’s whittling but he looks up as she steps onto the dock and gives her a wide smile.

“Rose! Come over here and help me figure out what I’m trying to make.”

She shakes her head at him and takes a seat next to him, closer than she normally sits, legs dangling towards the water. He passes over the piece of wood, their fingers brushing over each other and she can’t help the small intake of breath. There’s an imperceptible pause in his movements that she covers up by pulling away and holding the wood up to the new light.

“Hmmm,” she murmurs, buying time, making a show of squinting her eyes as she turns it this way and that.

“Oh, come on, Rose, it’s not that bad!” he protests, laughingly.

She lets him off and laughs with him, handing the wood back to him. “I think it’s a boat, yeah?”

“What?” his tone is mock-hurt as he holds the piece of wood up to take a closer look. “It’s an eagle! You could’ve at least said a plane or something nicer.”

“Okay, fine,” she makes a grab for the carving to look at it again, but he holds it in his opposite hand, away from her so she has to reach across him to get it. It’s only when she’s just about got it in her hand does she realize her position and the sudden tenseness in his frame. She’s balanced on her knees on one side of him, one hand on his shoulder while the other stretches for his fist, bringing his face level with her breasts.

Rose has learned a thing or two since she last saw him. One in particular is that her breasts are fascinating to the boys at her school. She’s gotten more attention than she ever has, but mainly in the form of lewd leers and sexual advances. She’s never been interested in any of them and was actually disgusted by their behavior.

But disgust is the farthest thing from her mind as she realizes how sensitive she is in that particular area of her body. His face has moved away a bit as she’s just stayed on her knees, but she’s aware of how many centimeters away he actually is and she wonders what it would be like if he were to kiss her there. Or kiss her anywhere.

She can feel her breath quickening.

Abruptly, he pulls away, standing up and, seemingly not even comfortable with that, takes a step away from her. He bends down to hand the wooden carving to her. Automatically she takes it from him with one hand, the other used to find her balance when he’d suddenly moved away. He isn’t looking at her as he clambers down the dock, mumbling something about not remembering if he turned his stove off or not. She still doesn’t say anything as he settles into his row boat and pushes off.

It isn’t until he looks up and finally meets her eyes does she move from her stunned position, and then it is only to sit straight. She doesn’t break his gaze as he rows away towards his home in the center of the lake.

 

 

He’s sitting in an armchair in his darkened living room, having ignored the lights in favor of his own dark thoughts. A half-full bottle of beer is neglected on the coffee table in front of him. He’d gone through the motions of the rest of his day, trying to forget what had happened that morning on the dock. Except now he finds himself here with his head in his hands, unable to put the feel and image of Rose Tyler on her knees next to him. 

She is so young and so full of life. He knows that he’s been playing a fool’s game these past few years, befriending a pretty little girl so vivacious and precocious as his Rose is. He mentally scoffs at himself. _His Rose indeed._

Puberty. Why hadn’t he thought of that? That first glimpse of Rose in her shorts, those young firm breasts curving her shirt, her blonde hair gathered up in a ponytail; his gut reaction should’ve warned him of the folly that would come. But he’d ignored it, hoping that he’d get to spend time with Rose as he’d become accustomed to over the summers; drink in that bright hope and live on it for the rest of his barren months. It just hadn’t gone the way he’d planned.

He’d been able to forget about the physical changes turning Rose from the little girl sprite into a woman. Until she’d reached across him and unknowingly brought those gentle curves within reach of him. He’d been so tempted. Even now, while he sits here ashamed of his thoughts, he’s hard and wanting.

It was the sudden change in the air, her own latent realization of what she was doing to him that had brought him out of his stupor, enough to clumsily extricate himself from a situation that would quickly spiral out of his control.

Rose wasn’t afraid of exploring, of asking questions, and getting answers. She’d proven that time and again in their days together. This is one of the things he holds dear about her. It’s just that _this_ isn’t something they’re going to get answers about together. She is completely _forbidden_ to him. 

Numerous reasons could be listed off--not the least of which that she was far far too young for him. She was innocent and he wouldn’t be the one responsible for ruining that. He’d lived and experienced far too much for a sweet girl like her to even fully understand and it wasn’t even something he wants her to be able to understand. He wants her to keep going on the path she’s on. He wants her to never stop learning and always looking and finding her way in that sparkling manner she has been. He doesn’t want to take that away, and some sordid sexual tryst with an old man would do that. It would ruin life for her.

His heart slyly presents another reason why he can’t get involved with her. It wouldn’t just be sex with Rose. It would be something more. Something that he hasn’t felt since Ramona and something that he feels he just can’t experience again and not want to let go of it. But he won’t tether her to him. He won’t do that.

He’ll maintain distance between them. He’s the adult, the more experienced man. He’s been in the game and knows the plays that happen between men and women. He can use that to help protect her, this innocent. He can deflect her and he will.

 

 

Of course, he hadn’t accounted entirely for _Rose Tyler._

 

 

 

“What happened the other day?”

His shoulders tense at the blunt question. He takes a minute to finish putting his groceries in his boat before turning to meet Rose’s dark eyes. Inwardly, he smiles. She was never one to beat around the bush.

“I—“ he stops because he really doesn’t know what he’s going to say.

She crosses her arms, an action that does his equilibrium no good as her breasts lift with the action.

He swallows and takes a deep breath, mind racing. He isn’t keen on having this conversation at all or at any coming date.

He settles his face into his shit-eating grin, throwing his hands wide and exclaims, “Rose! I had set up a surprise and then totally forgot to have it ready by the time you came! I have it now!” Ignoring her frown, he turns back to the rowboat and fumbles underneath the bench for anything to distract her. What his hands come up with isn’t necessarily something he’s terribly excited about but it’s something better than having _that_ conversation. He holds it up for her inspection.

“A bow and arrows?” she deadpans, a smile flitting about her perfect ( _do_ not _go there_ ) mouth, obviously in spite of herself.

He shrugs, walking towards the wooded clearing some meters away from the shore. He hears her sigh and follow after him. He smiles a real smile now.

 

 

 

 

At first, she was disappointed at his patent distraction. _But now_ , she thinks, as she adjusts her shoulders, just touching the firm chest behind her, _I think I like it_. A smile she hadn’t know was in her, curves her lips, which luckily he can’t see, else he might stop the lesson.

She’d gone along with the bow-and-arrow lesson a little reluctantly, wanting to draw him into talking about what happened on the dock, but he wasn’t to be deterred. Finally, thinking that if she just got it over with, she’d be able to get him to look at it again. She didn’t like that the Doctor didn’t feel comfortable talking to her.

However, as the lesson had gone along and he’d had to step in close and put his arms around her to position her and correct her stance and grip, the idea of getting this over with quickly faded away.

In the past summers, there’d been plenty of times when he’d touched her to show her how to do something, but never before had his touch felt like electricity on her skin, sending delicate tremors down her body, to the tips of her fingers and to the pit of her stomach. She tries so hard not to show that she is reacting. Partly because she doesn’t want to scare him off again, but also because she feels embarrassed.

She doesn’t really know why she’s developed these feelings for him in such a sudden fashion. She’s been aware that it probably wasn’t healthy that he was basically her only friend, but she hadn’t really cared. He was her best friend and her summers with him is what sustained her through the tiresome routine of high school life. The kids surrounding her were just that: _kids_. They were more into their phones, clothes, the latest rap song, and themselves to even look to the future, or imagine what was happening outside their limited zone.

This isn’t the case when she’s with the Doctor. With him, she learns about places like Patagonia and the Sahara Desert. She gets to talk about her dreams of traveling and seeing more than just England and the one summer trip to the Alps. She realizes that not only is he her friend, but he’s someone that she genuinely _loves_.

She can’t contain the smile of joy at this epiphany, not caring that he catches a glimpse of it as he takes the arrow out of the ground near the tree serving as their target. He’s already laughing at her inability to shoot the arrow even into the tree so when he sees that unguarded smile, he’s momentarily arrested. Her hair is down and the sun highlights the gold around her, creating a glowing effect to match her laughing eyes and wide happy mouth, that pink tongue peeking out meaning it’s her happiest smile.

He can’t help himself and smiles back, not really able to name the emotion emanating from her but just knowing it’s good and it fills him up with happiness. The past hour has been torture, wonderful but so so dangerous. With that smile, he decides that he can have it, that he’ll be able to toe the line, just so he can make this girl happy. He walks back over to her, handing the arrow he’d fetched, letting their fingers slide against each other.

 

 

 

The rest of two weeks pass in much the same fashion as the past summers. It’s just that this time, there’s an extra charge and tension to the air between them. She doesn’t try to broach the subject again and he seems fine with not bringing it up. But as they talk and she learns more about the different animals and vegetation in the surrounding forests, they find themselves holding each others’ gaze a few seconds too long or they’ll find excuses to touch hands, hair, arms. When they take hikes, he’ll hold her hand ostensibly to help her over patches that aren’t actually that rough. They don’t really speak about this, don’t actually acknowledge it. And she’s okay with that.

Until her last day at the lake.

She’s determined to get some sort of resolution in this new change in status. It’s not that she expects him to be her _boyfriend_ or anything, but she doesn’t like that their relationship isn’t clearly defined. She’s never been one for black-and-white, but today, she finds that she is.

The water’s low enough for her to take the walkway to his house. It’s a path that she’s only halfway walked on. Though they’ve never spoken about it, she knows that the Doctor draws the line at her coming over to the island. She has an idea of what could happen, given the nature of her feelings for him and what she’s pretty sure is reciprocated.

She’s not even halfway before he appears in his boat, making his way toward her. She smiles in chagrin, knowing she was caught and waves as he approaches. He’s smirking when he pulls up next to her, shaking his head.

“You’ll not get very far, Rose. Get in the boat, and I’ll take you to shore.”

She pouts, feeling playful. He shakes his head again and gestures for her to get in. She does, sitting across form him and stretching her bare feet to just touch his dry ones. He moves them away with a slight jerk which has her pulling hers back self-consciously. Her smile dies a little.

He clears his throat, a useless attempt to dispel the sudden somberness. “What were you doing on the walkway?” he asks.

She trails a hand in the water as he starts rowing towards the shore. “I was coming to see you,” she glances at him from the corner of her eye. “It’s my last day.” She sees him frown and, for some reason, this lifts her own mood and gives her the courage to do what she was coming over for.

Impulsively, she sits forward, balancing her hands on his knees and attempting to bring her mouth within distance to his.

“Rose!” he splutters, dropping one of the oars in surprise, pulling away from her, causing her to fall back in her seat hard. He ignores her in favor of saving the oar that went over the side.

Inexplicably, she finds tears running down her face. She hurriedly wipes at it while he’s struggling to reach the oar, not wanting to further embarrass herself. She hides her burning face with her hair. She would like to die right now, please.

She feels rather than sees him kneel in front of her, the boat rocking with his movements. He pulls her into a hug, murmuring soothing noises to her as she cries into his shoulder. This is the only time he’s ever held her and it’s wonderful. He smells woodsy and like the sun and like freshness and she can’t stop trying to inhale him.

She’s quiet in his arms, finally calmed down. He pulls away to cup her head, pulling her hair away from his face. She doesn’t breathe as she’s held by his bright blue gaze. Her heart is far too loud in her ears and she thinks he can feel the blood beating at her temples beneath his fingers.

“Rose,” he whispers, before bringing his lips to her forehead in the barest of kisses. She closes her eyes, relishing the contact. He doesn’t move for a long moment and then he gently releases her, putting space between them again. She doesn’t open her eyes until she feels the boat move under the power of the oars. When she does open them, she just watches his arms as they move in a rhythm, forearm muscles rippling under golden tipped skin. Her mouth goes dry.

When they’ve reached shore and he’s gingerly helped her onto dry land, he takes both of her small hands in his, facing her. She stares resolutely at the buttons of his plaid shirt, still ashamed of her failed kiss. His hand tips her chin up to meet his wry gaze.

“It’s okay, Rose.” His voice is quiet. Tender. She makes herself hold still, not wanting to break the moment. Hoping that maybe…

“We can’t go on like this.” Her heart drops. “You’re just growing up and you’re becoming a beautiful young woman. But you and me can’t--“

She can’t hold back her protest. “I don’t see why not!”

He smiles at her naivety, so young, so ready to take on the world. “I’m too old for you, Rose. I’ve lived almost half my life already, while you’re just starting. I’m not looking for a summer fling while you’re not looking for a serious relationship.” He stops her from interrupting with a gentle thumb to her mouth that lingers. Her eyes close at the sensation and he has to step away.

“Go find a young pretty boy to spend time with. Meet more people your age. You’ll forget about me.” He dismisses himself so easily. His heart clenches at the disappointment and hurt on her face. Before he changes his mind, he gets into his rowboat and pushes off. He can’t leave her without something though so he calls back to the young woman standing alone on the beach, “I care about you, Rose. Enough to let you live a fantastic life.”

He turns his attention to the oars beside him, ignoring the one bright spot of his life walking away.

 

 

 

Rose cries over the Doctor for weeks following the trip to the Alps. Her mother can’t make heads or tails of it and has taken to bringing her different types of teas from all over the world, trying to find one that will calm her daughter down. Eventually, Rose stops crying and spends time looking at the ceiling of her living room, tracing with her eyes the star patterns she’d put up there as a little girl. When semester starts, Rose finds that she’s angry at the Doctor and throws herself into the high school life like she’s never done before.

She finds that people like it when she speaks her mind and walks the hallways like she’s meant to be there. She gets a group of friends who seem to elect her as leader. She gets leads in the school productions. She takes on more after-school activities. She gets busy.

Boys ask her out and she never accepts, not interested in their immature pick-up lines and grabby hands. That is until she meets a guy named Jimmy Stone. He’s the brother of one of her friends and he’s already done with school and he’s looking at her with blue eyes that remind her achingly of someone. They meet at a party and spend the night dancing and drinking. Things get a little blurry for her and she experiences her first kiss without much recollection.

It’s only when she’s shoved hard against a wall with only Jimmy’s body to hold her up does she come to her senses enough to push at him. “No!” she protests. He ignores her inebriated attempts, using one hand to hold her still while the other creeps up her thigh and under her skirt.

She refuses to lose her virginity this way. She’d imagined it so much gentler and with a much different man then this bastard. She starts screaming and kicking, enough so that he lets go of her with some alacrity. “Whoa! Don’t act like a slut and not expect to get some! Bitch!” he throws at her as he walks out of the alcove and into the rest of the party happening just a few feet away.

Rose pulls her skirt down, trying to wipe away the memory of his fingers, her mascara running black tears down her face.

 

 

 

It’s the first summer in a long time that she doesn’t go to the lake at all. Her parents are a little concerned, knowing that she’d loved being outdoors before. She shrugs them off, claiming that she’s just going to do extra study for honors classes next year. Jackie wants to hover, but Pete pulls her out the door to give her some space.

The days pass in a dull haze for Rose who sternly averts her eyes from the windows facing the direction of the lake. While she can’t see it from their cabin, she knows that it’s there just over the tree line. That _he’s_ probably there.

She knows it’s irrational, but she half-blames him for Jimmy.

Before she knows it, it’s the night before they leave back to London. She lays in bed, looking up at the waning moon and is overcome with the need to go to the lake, to at least be close to him even if they’re on different shores. She sneaks out of the house, a coat thrown over her nightgown, heedless of thinness of her slippers.

When she makes it to the dock, she’s a little out of breath. Seeing the light on in the house on the lake, she feels lightheaded. As if controlled by some outer force, she takes off her slippers and wades onto the walkway. It’s dark and the moon’s not too bright and though she’s never actually walked the full path, she knows that it’s pretty much a straight shot to the island. She goes carefully, feeling her way with her feet, filled with a sense of purpose and rightness.

As her feet hit the sandy shore of his house’s island, she feels a trembling start within her. She’s nervous and excited and feels so out of depth that she nearly turns around to walk back the way she came. Then her eye catches on the door to his cabin and she smiles at the whimsy. It’s a bright brilliant blue. Not as light as his eyes, but a hue that speaks of the middle of the lake and the color of the sky just before dusk. Taking a shaky breath in, she strides up to the door and knocks.

A long pause enters in, and she’s got the shakes again. Slowly the door cracks open until it reveals _him_ in the doorway, wearing a plain t-shirt and jeans, face slightly scruffy with his night beard and eyes tired but very blue.

“Rose?” his voice is both reverent and surprised, as if he’s only half sure that she’s real. She doesn’t know that with the pale moonlight at her back, the light color of her clothes and hair, she looks almost like an angel standing before the glowing water.

She does know that the look he gives her sends a shiver up her spine and into her scalp that she can’t hide. It doesn’t escape him and suddenly his eyes darken, his hands are reaching for her just as she’s reaching for him. She’s through his doorway and into his arms, her own going around his neck as he bends down to bring his mouth to hers.

And it’s glorious and wonderful and everything that she’d wanted a kiss to be. He’s hot and gentle and his tongue slides across her lips, tasting, not even seeking entrance. She opens for him anyway and her knees give out as his tongue scrapes across hers. He growls with pleasure as he gathers her closer, swinging her away from the doorway and backwards until she’s lying across his couch.

His body covers hers and she sighs into his mouth with pleasure. She loves this feeling of his weight, her hands run down his back, appreciating the firm muscles that move under his shirt. She reaches the edge of his shirt and brings her small hands under it and onto his hot skin. She can feel his smile against her mouth as his kiss gentles and he pulls away from her to look down on her.

She can feel a blush starting from under the collar of her nightgown and up to the roots of her hair. His smile widens but in a way she doesn’t recognize because it’s full of want and desire and all the things he’s tried to hold back from her.

“Hi,” she whispers, feeling a little awkward and shy now that he’s not kissing her and just looking at her. She shifts a little under his blue gaze, and his eyes drop to the space between them, as if he’s just realized fully where they’re at and what’s about to happen or, really, what could’ve happened.

She sees the shift in his mood as soon as it happens, the worry that creases his forehead and the frown at the edges of his mouth. Before he can move off her or say something to rebuke her, she instinctively brings her arms tighter around him, bringing him back flush against her body.

“Oh, no you don’t! I want you here, Doctor. I want _you_ ,” she whispers fiercely in his ear. And not even knowing why she does it, she gently bites his ear. His hips grind against hers in reaction and a low moan comes from his throat. She senses the power she has with him, even more than what she could feel last summer and does it again, this time rolling her own hips with his when he moves. She can feel him hard between her thighs and she widens her legs to accommodate him.

He kisses his way up from her neck, across her jaw and back over to her mouth, capturing her with a deep exploration that has her clinging to his shirt and desperately gathering it up in fistfuls. He releases her lips long enough to send the shirt over his shoulders and behind the couch. Her eager hands explore the exposed skin, running across his strong shoulders, feeling the muscles bunch and across his chest, fingers lightly tangling in the hair across his nipples. She smiles as his muscles jerk in reaction to her and she does it again.

“Hey now, little love, let’s not get too ahead of ourselves here,” he chides teasingly, capturing her hands with his, laying a kiss on each before laying them above her head. She isn’t sure what to do, but knows that she wants something to happen, preferably skin to skin. She writhes a little in front of him, trying to get him into some sort of motion instead of his devouring gaze that takes her in from the top of her golden head to the hem of her nightgown, caught around her hips.

He moves one hand down from hers down her arms, the sides of her chest, thumbs coming out to trace the underside of her braless breasts. He keeps one hand loosely around her wrists, not wanting her to interrupt his exploration. He doesn’t touch her where she aches to be touched and continues down until he’s over her hips and his fingers are reaching under her nightgown. A hot shiver runs through her at his whole body long caress and she pushes up against him again.

His low laugh sends further warmth through her and to her core, seeping out. She makes a slightly frustrated sound at this and his eyes come back up to meet hers, her breath catching at the possession in them. He’s back with that slightly wolfish smile as he quickly runs one finger inside her panties and across her opening, feeling the wetness there. She jerks up with the motion and presses her head back against the couch. The smile falls off his face as passion takes over and he kisses her swiftly, deeply and with a tenderness that makes her moan.

His hands come up and under her nightgown, moving it over and off her body and she’s finally exposed to him. He sucks in a breath at the sight of her breasts, so full even now and rose-tipped to match her name. There’s also a slight flush covering her chest and he knows that part of it is embarrassment and hopes that a lot of it is just desire and he leans over to take one of those hard buds in his mouth to make sure it is. She gives a little scream at the contact and arches up and he loves how she tastes and how she reacts, so willing to experience and let him see. _This_ is what he loves about Rose: her curiosity, her undauntedness, her desire always for _more_. And he realizes that he’s been thinking the word “love” a lot and pushes the thought to the back of his mind.

He’s got this girl to please.

Moving away he blows across the tip of her breast. Rose is unable to stop the sounds coming out of her throat and she doesn’t even want to because he’s grinding that wonderful hardness against that aching part of her and she just wants him _in_. She tells him this and he looks up at her from between her breasts, her heart skipping at the look in his eyes and she _knows_ what he’s going to say before he does.

“Ah, Rose, I—you know—“

As he stumbles over his words, she’s annoyed with herself for even bringing it up, for ruining this moment between them, but she doesn’t want him to ever stop and just wants him to _be_ with her. She grabs his head and brings his lips back to hers, sipping and kissing while just breathing one word against his lips, “Please.”

She feels the tension in his body, in his arms, the careful way he’s holding his body away from hers, allowing cool air to flow between them. She doesn’t know if he’s trying to let her passion fade away with that, and if he thinks that, he’s got another thing coming. Still lightly brushing her lips against his, she licks at his bottom lip before taking it into her teeth and biting down lightly. She feels the tremor go through him, just as he groans low in his chest, taking control of the kiss and biting her back, just a little. She brings her hands across his back, unable to stay away from touching him. His chest is against her skin and she feels so happy in this moment, but she wants _more_. Running her hands down his back, she grabs his buttocks and squeezes, loving the feel of his muscles under her hand.

His mouth moves off her mouth to kiss under her jaw, licking the beating pulse he finds there before moving further down to her breasts, where he lingers, kissing and laving.

She feels so wet right now and she needs relief, _now_. She doesn’t realize she’s growled the word out until he lifts his head and flashes her a wicked smile as he moves further down her body until his head is between her legs. Slowly, he pulls her panties down, revealing the darker blonde thatch of hair. He pauses for a moment, looking at her spread before him and she feels so beautiful in that moment that she could cry.

He takes one finger and runs it between her cleft again, just lightly and she pushes against him, not caring that she’s practically begging. He rewards her as he covers her mound with his whole hand, inserting a finger into her as the bottom of his hand grounds near that center part of her and she nearly comes apart from that alone.

He’s having a hard time keeping himself from coming and forces himself to concentrate on her and her alone. They can’t go any farther than this, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to be selfish and experience her ecstasy. Just this once.

Getting on the floor, he moves her so she’s sitting in front of him, legs over his shoulders and his mouth is at her opening. He works her with one finger, watching her become wetter for him, by him. Lightly he flicks at the bundle of nerves he knows is there and is satisfied by her jump and startled moan. Delicately he lowers his mouth and sips at her, flicking his tongue up and in and she’s no longer holding back. Her hands are on his head and she’s flying up to the stars, time has no meaning for her and all she sees is sparks and all she can scream is his name, _her_ name for him, “Doctor!”

He stays with her until she comes back, languid and at ease. She’s smiling and running her fingers through his hair before remembering that he hasn’t had any release. She starts making weak tugging motions at him, really unable to do more than that. He smiles, a little sadly, but mostly happy because she’s here and he has her taste in his mouth and the imprint of her hands on him. He stands and gathers her to him, lifting her in his arms as he carries her to his bathroom. She stands relaxed in this middle of the marble tiled floor as he gets a cloth to clean her with.

It isn’t until he’s got her nightgown almost over her head does she start protesting. “But—“

He cuts her off with a swift kiss and she thinks she should be put off by the fact that his mouth had been _there_ , but she isn’t and she gets lost in the kiss. He finishes putting on her nightgown and gathers her close once more, his nose to the top of her head. “This is all we can have, Rose. At least for a few years more.”

She‘s more than slightly angry at him for this and pulls back to give him what for. “I’m not too young for you! You must know that! I love you!” She almost claps a hand over her mouth at the admission.

He has that happy and sad look in his dear blue gaze as he kisses her nose and eyebrows, brushing his lips against her temple. “Oh, Rose. It’s just…you have so much ahead of you. I would feel like I’m holding you back, no matter how much you said it wasn’t so. Just, at least finish school, do that for me, please?”

She thinks it over in her mind as he walks her out to his boat, after putting on a shirt and grabbing her coat. A small part of her suggests that he thinks that he _does_ think that she’s too young for him and is just trying to put her off nicely. But a large part of her knows who this man is and knows that what he’s saying is because he’s a noble man, a man of integrity and he really does want what’s best for her, even if it doesn’t suit him too much. This is part of the reason she loves him.

He gives her time to think as he gets them back to the other side. It helps that he doesn’t stop touching her as they go, his hand tangled with hers or his legs on either side of hers. So when the boat lands at the shore and he carries her out and gently places her on her feet, she’s ready to answer him.

She puts her arms around his waist and looks up because she’s unwilling to let go of this shared closeness that they’ve forged. “I’ll grow up a little more for you, my dear Doctor. But we should at least have these summers. I know that you won’t want to do more than what we’ve done tonight, but at least let us—let _you_ have that.”

He shakes his head at her words. She knows him too well, this beautiful yellow-haired girl. Lifting her so he can feel her against him, he kisses her with a promise and she smiles against his lips.

 

 

 

 

She wakes up ridiculously early the following summer, too soon for their normal meeting time, but too restless to even have to pretend that she’s not excited to see him. Out of respect for her parents and maybe a little for his own protection, they’d decided not to contact each other during her school year, but oh, how she’d ached for him. How many times had she lain in bed, her body remembering his touch, his kisses?

She’s smiling as she gets to the dock and takes a seat at the edge, legs dangling but never quite reaching the sparkling water. She loves the peace of this relatively secluded area, always has.

The serenity she was feeling fades as the morning moves on and into lunch. She’s taken to staring at his house to see any sign of movement and when there isn’t, she starts to think that maybe he isn’t going to come and that thought sends a pang through her. She shrugs it off, because he always comes, eventually. She gets up to get lunch and maybe see some of her parents’ friends with them. She does, but her heart’s not into it.

The next morning, she goes out again. Not so early this time and not so eagerly, a sense of doom hanging about her. She sits on the dock, oblivious to the peace around her and stares at his house.

He doesn’t show up that day either.

As the rest of her summer passes, she alternately waits at the dock or wonders around the surrounding forests and village, hoping that she’ll run into him or get some word of him.

When the water’s low enough for her to take the walkway, she does and she knocks on that bright blue door to no avail. The door’s locked and so are the windows, she finds, as she walks the perimeter of the house. Giving up any semblance of politeness, she peers inside one of the windows to find that the house looks definitely not lived in.

Has he really taken to the extreme of not even coming to his summer retreat to not see her? To stay away from her? She feels angry at him for not even having the decency to leave her a letter or something.

Her parents don’t comment on her sullen and despondent silence as they drive away from the lake.

 

 

 

 

He isn’t there the next summer either. This time she cries alone at the lake side, at his abandonment and his false words on that night that had been so much to her.

 

 

 

She doesn’t look for him the summer she turns twenty. She even tried getting out of the yearly summer trip, albeit half-heartedly, but still. Jackie would have none of it though, not willing to lose what family time they had left with the prospect of her daughter heading off to a European trip on her own. It would be the first time that Rose had been gone for an extended time, and while Jackie understood that Rose was fulfilling a long-time dream of traveling, she wasn’t going to budge on her spending just this part of summer with them as they always did.

She manages to keep herself busy with family friends, the village festival, and whatever other inane things she can find to fill up her time. But as the days dwindle down to just a few left, she does make time to go down to the lakeside. At first, she doesn’t look at the house, taking in the soaring tops of the mountains, the clearness of the lake, but eventually her eyes do find that house, his home. The house looks so lonely there in the middle of the lake.

The weather has been particularly dry and she can see the walkway between the shore and the lake house under the water.

She’s still hurt, the raw part of her heart only barely scarred over, only now dulled from the gnawing pain of when she first realized he’d left her. She does have to admit that right now, it’s mainly her pride holding her back. She isn’t going to be the one to run to him. She understands now that he could see that what they did as wrong, but she doesn’t. She knows that deep down, he doesn’t either. He may not have said the words, but he loved her too. She’s at least certain of that. At least, at the time.

Swallowing down her pride, she moves to the walkway, shedding her sandals on the shore, dipping her feet into the cool water. A bittersweet smile appears on her lips. _“It’s really only there for a week or so, the water still up to your ankles—well, for you, probably your knees.”_ His voice echoes in her mind.

She’s only a few steps away from the shore when the breeze blows strands of her hair across her face and as she bats it back annoyed, she catches sight of a boat leaving the house. She stills, suddenly nervous and unsure and feeling very young. Wiping her clammy hands on her summer dress, she moves out of the water and back onto dry land. She ignores the sandals she’s cast off and remembers just in time that there’s no point in running to the dock, it’s not like it would shorten his time in arriving there.

She’s caught between anxiety and exhilaration as his boat approaches, her stomach doing flips and somersaults and all manner of circus acts, only to have it drop heavily when she doesn’t recognize the man rowing the boat.

He’s not her Doctor.

The man is around her age, maybe a little older, skinny with a thick head of dark hair. The Doctor never let his hair grow that long, even when she’d first met him and he’d had that scary beard.

She wonders if she should eave and come back at another time when her Doctor might be here, but knowing that if she left, she’d never find the nerve to come back. She at least doesn’t need to stand here looking like she’s waiting for this stranger to land even though she is, because even if he isn’t the Doctor, he’s using his boat and maybe he can help her find him. And besides, while she’s been dithering about what to do, he’s reached the shore and is climbing out of the boat, throwing her curious looks.

Mentally shrugging, she approaches him, pasting a polite smile on her face. He straightens and makes a subtle swipe through his hair, as she stops in front of him.

“I’m Rose,” she says, offering her hand for him to shake which he does. “I’m just visiting and was walking around when I saw you came from the house on the lake.”

He gives her an open grin, one that just makes her instantly smile back. His brown eyes crinkle and there’s something about him that sets off a small alarm in her mind.

“I’m Johnny. Johnny Smith.”

Her smile goes stiff at his words. His own fades a bit and a nervous hand comes up to the back of his neck to scratch. When the silence stretches on a bit too long, he clears his throat and makes a motion towards the path up the woods. “I’ll just be, uh—“

“Smith?” She interrupts, her heart pulsing in dread, without her really knowing why. Her eyes register the boat is full of bags and boxes, but she refuses to process the reason for it.

“Yep,” he answers, a wary look in his eyes, hands going into his pockets.

“Is your father…Doctor John Smith?”

He takes another look at this girl, hearing the trepidation in her tone, the stillness to her stance, the sun filtering through that gorgeous blonde hair and he remembers an off-hand mention from his father of this lake and a girl he sometimes met there. He remembers the affection in his father’s tone and the look in his eye that deepened the blue. And he sees that his next words will hurt her, so he doesn’t do anything but nod.

Tears are gathering in her eyes, because she notices the boxes, the dark circles under this young man’s eyes, the hesitation in his expression. “What happened to him?”

He again runs a hand through his hair. Even after a year, he finds it hard to come to grips with it. “It was on a flight back from one of his doctors without borders missions. The plane…didn’t make it. He died in the crash.” His voice was quiet and he couldn’t quite meet her eyes.

A sob escapes her and she’s a little too slow in covering it up. The tears fall freely and she feels like bending over in pain, to somehow relieve it though she knows that this won’t come immediately. But she doesn’t, because she’s never been one to show her emotions in front of strangers, but she can’t control the grief that pours from her. She holds an arms around her middle, a feeble attempt to comfort herself.

Johnny wants to help her, but doesn’t know how, only just now realizing what his father meant to this girl and feeling inadequate to do anything about it, so he just stands near her, not knowing that his presence is both comforting and painful in reminding the girl of who she’s just lost.

 

 

 

 

There’s a house in the middle of a lake. It has a bright blue door that’s faded over time. It stands alone against the mountain skyline and the clear water.

**Author's Note:**

> Whew! I went places that I haven't gone before with a story. Please let me know what you think.


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